


The First Tour

by breakingoftheshell



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bogus Science, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakingoftheshell/pseuds/breakingoftheshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Khan has six months of probation aboard the Enterprise stretched out before him. No one is any more pleased to see him as he is to be there, but a month into the awkward stalemate, diplomatic relations between the augment and, well, everyone, start to improve due to the youngest member of the command crew, Pavel Chekov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Tour

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is my first time posting on AO3, and my first time posting fic in YEARS. So, THIS ought to be fun...
> 
> This story will alternate between Chekov and Khan for point of view (third person limited). Aaand I may have taken small, ahem, liberties with exactly how things went down right toward the end of Star Trek Into Darkness there.

**Chekov**

“It’s like being followed around by Mini-Me and one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse,” Scotty bitched as he led the way up a catwalk.

 

Pavel Chekov glanced behind him. Khan Noonien Singh was impassive as he followed them. It was surreal that he was even there. He was like some kind of specter that everyone was obliged to politely ignore. Well, most everyone.

 

“One’s kind of neat,” Scotty blustered on. “The other’s a bloody nuisance!”

 

Khan’s expression didn’t change, and Chekov supposed, by now, it wouldn’t. He turned to watch where he was going. Khan had been dealing with Scotty’s bitching for weeks, ever since he’d been placed on an engineering rotation.  Scotty seemed to take it like a personal insult, which was ridiculous, considering Khan had been given rotations in every major department. The fact that he spent every afternoon on command rotation was more insulting than anything, really. Scotty only had to deal with him on a few mornings. Chekov had him a few mornings and every single afternoon.

 

“If I had my druthers,” Scotty began.

 

Chekov winced because he’d rather not go through another tense morning of dealing with both Scotty and Khan after the former expressed how he wished he’d let the latter splatter against a closed airlock door. Khan never rose to Scotty’s baiting, not verbally, but he didn’t have to. The man could exude hostility out of his pores. It made Chekov’s head ache. Scotty didn’t seem to notice.

 

“You were talking about the overload capacity yesterday, sir,” Chekov said, to redirect the conversation.

 

“Aye, that!” Scotty visibly brightened. “There’s a tricky balance there, lad. See, a little too much is kind of exciting on occasion, but _too much_ too much is very bad indeed.”

 

Chekov nodded but didn’t miss the soft snort behind him. Khan never seemed impressed with Scotty’s imprecise ways of explaining things. Montgomery Scott was a mechanical genius, no doubt, but he’d never, Chekov had been led to believe, been very good at explaining himself. He was best at practical demonstrations, supposedly. Just so long as they worked. (There was a story about a dog that made Chekov a little sad.)

 

Scotty prattled on about how a minor overload was really just an excess, which meant they could really kick the old girl into overdrive, but a major overload, of course, meant that everything on the ship was likely to explode in some way. Not literally, but there was Scotty’s flair for over-simplification again. Chekov only had to pay attention with half an ear, because this was all very common sense. And losing power was a more likely issue at any given time.

 

Between the three of them, they had some history with that, after all.

 

Despite Scotty’s open antagonism, the overall tension on the ship had eased, which was simultaneously hard to believe and a credit to Starfleet professionalism. The ship had only left port three and a half weeks ago.

 

The events in San Francisco were a little over a year behind them, the Enterprise’s repairs were so newly completed that she almost had that new ship smell, and Starfleet had apparently lost its collective mind. They had, after all, decided that Khan Noonien Singh could be rehabilitated. In fact, recently, they’d decided that he pretty much was, and Admiral Cahill had marched him aboard the Enterprise and said, “Take him. It’ll be fun.”

 

That might have been an over-simplification, Chekov admitted to himself, as he reviewed the events of the past month. He had been spending a lot of time with Scotty. Khan’s position on the ship was strictly probationary. He had no rank, authority, or affiliation. This tour was considered a final phase of his rehabilitation. He was to be taken far away from earth, kept on a tight leash, and utilized to the greatest advantage while assessing whether or not he was capable of functioning in a non-destructive capacity for an extended period of time.

 

Captain Kirk had taken exception to this idea, but he’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that it wasn’t a suggestion. The “ancient psychopath,” as Kirk had not subtly shouted on Khan’s arrival, was now a charge of the Enterprise. He could not be ejected from the ship or detained without verifiable and documented just cause. The only consolation they’d been offered was that the terms of “just cause” had been tightened a little for Khan, and the augment was to be held to standards of strict transparency. Not brig transparency, but close. He’d been settled in officer’s quarters to be more easily monitored, and he was accounted for every minute of every day. Apparently, Starfleet and the Federation thought he was worth more alive, awake, and hopefully compliant than dead, frozen, or villainously crazy.

 

And Chekov accused Scotty of over-simplifying things.

 

They’d stopped at a monitoring station between cooling towers, and Scotty was going on about something. Chekov was listening, he really was, but he found himself looking sideways at Khan, who was frowning down at the display. His steely eyes flicked rapidly across the metrics, the light from the screen washing the color from them. Maybe. Chekov wasn’t sure, really, but they looked almost gray, and that didn’t seem right. It wasn’t as if he had a habit of looking into the augment’s eyes. It was hard to know where to look on him. He wasn’t actually that big, but there seemed to be so much of him, and all of it gave the impression of being hard and potentially dangerous in some way. It was like being in a room with a large predator. Chekov didn’t dare turn his back.

 

Khan leaned forward, a lock of hair falling across his forehead. He reached out and toggled the display.

 

“Oi! Don’t touch that!” Scotty snapped.

 

Chekov flinched. Khan went still with his hand poised a millimeter above the control surface. His jaw was clenched and the cords of muscle in his neck looked like cables ready to snap. He only made a fist and straightened his back though. He turned a cool gaze on Scotty and said nothing.

 

Chekov wished he wasn’t standing between them. Or that he could split his vision in two directions. Or that he could at least shrink out of the way of the glares. Because none of this was possible, he stepped forward and finished opening the diagnostic sequence Khan had been attempting to access. It was harmless and routine, after all. He quickly eyed a few numbers and then stepped back.

 

“Hm,” he said, trying for a conversational tone. “You were right.”

 

He looked at Khan, and Khan broke off his glare at Scotty. He turned a slightly bemused look on Chekov.

 

“The tanks require to be balanced,” Chekov said quickly then gave one brief irritated wince at his poor verb form. He slipped sometimes, when his nerves were frayed. It was a tell he wished he didn’t have.

 

Khan studied him. Like a big cat would, perhaps, when determining whether something was insignificant or lunch.

 

“But we’ve only just left,” Scotty said, sounding genuinely distressed. He tended to when something was amiss with his darling. “She should be right as rain!”

 

“Precisely,” Khan said as his gaze slid back to the other man.

 

His voice was like a glacier rumbling slowly down a mountain. Chekov hadn’t heard him speak in what felt like days, though it was probably only yesterday. Just, sometimes, when it was tense like this, time seemed so much slower. Chekov tried not to shiver as he went through another set of diagnostics.

 

“The tanks were not damaged, but they must have been drained and refitted when the warp core was repaired,” Chekov said. “The new coolant may not have been properly cycled.”

 

Scotty darted up to the other end of the terminal and drew up records. “If we’ve been running unbalanced shite through the system for five damned weeks—”

 

“There hasn’t been any permanent damage. Mineral concentrations haven’t risen high enough to create large thermal variations. Yet. I suggest balancing the tanks as soon as possible and avoiding taxing the system until then, however.” Khan’s voice was clinical, and he clasped his hands behind his back as he seemed to lose interest in the proceedings.

 

The rest of the morning would have gone faster if Scotty would have allowed Khan to help, but the chief engineer still seemed wary about letting the augment touch anything. Chekov was on the verge of being actually annoyed about it. But then the captain was actually annoyed about having to pull out of warp, and Chekov was focused on the mechanics of getting the tanks balanced as quickly as possible. It involved running around and opening and closing a lot of valves.

 

When the legwork was done, Chekov went to the nearest relay station to monitor the results. He and Scotty compared what they were seeing over comms, and when it seemed that everything equaled out rather well, they agreed to meet back on the main floor. Chekov logged out his access from the relay station and stepped back.

 

His shoulders hit something solid where there shouldn’t have been anything. He turned and looked. Khan looked down at him, tall and still and utterly inscrutable.

 

“Oi, sorry,” Chekov said reflexively as he stepped away.

 

He hadn’t even heard the augment approach, and that was a minor miracle considering the metal catwalk beneath them. Though, really, he should have expected Khan to be there. If he was Khan, he certainly wouldn’t have been sticking close to Scotty. Khan just gave him a stiff nod and turned away, stalking silently back to the main floor. Chekov scratched his head then followed after him, boots clunking along the whole way.

 

* * *

 

  **Khan**

Khan physically felt the strain of how much more difficult things here were than they had been in Antarctica. By the end of each day, his shoulders, the back of his neck, and the crown of his head felt fused into one solid, tense piece. This only made it more clear how necessary this all was. Khan understood it, even if he didn’t like it. This was a test.

 

He would not fail it, because failure was not something he did, but even as he went through the motions, he wondered what he hoped for once the task was complete. Would it ever be complete? He had never undertaken a task with so ill-defined an endgame. Would there ever come a time when he did not have to prove himself?

 

In his time, the clothes he wore would have been stealthy. Black on black. Part of him still equated it with shadows and quiet and disappearing. Unfortunately, everything on this bloody ship was white. Khan stood out like an exclamation point in front of every wall.

 

Which was likely why the knot of science officers going in the opposite direction only just managed to keep from pressing themselves to the wall as they slipped past him. They met in the hall nearly every day. He never so much as directed his gaze to them. They still gave him a wide berth.

 

Even if every crew member on this ship hadn’t already known his face, the black uniform would have taken care of the matter of recognition. He’d at least been granted an overshirt now, stitched and patterned just like everyone else’s, but that too was black. It was some illogical blend of conformity that was simultaneously meant to set him definitively apart. Lest anyone forget. He was not a part of this crew. He was a fox among the clucking, idiotic hens.

 

Khan suppressed his sneer. It was unbecoming. With internal balance came the knowledge that his singular superiority was of little use if he couldn’t exercise it rationally. Even if he didn’t know where this path would ultimately lead, he knew the most important thing was to maintain control. There could be no true mastery of anything without self-mastery.

 

When he reached his quarters, Khan gave the door the moment it needed to read his biometrics, not the least of which was the tracking chip imbedded in his shoulder. As he passed over the threshold, the computer gave that one irritating extra burble of reminder that it had logged his presence in the public records. They couldn’t even give him the dignity of letting this happen silently. Chimes went off with nearly every door he passed through. He was belled like a house cat.

 

He immediately sought out the thing that kept him balanced. He sat straight-backed at his desk, propped his PADD before him, and requested the open communication line to A-HAB-13. An unfortunate name if there ever was one.

 

He was patched through without difficulty. They hadn’t gone very far yet, and Ezekiel was expecting his call.

 

“Another thrilling day?” Ezekiel asked, almost before he’d fully resolved on the screen.

 

Khan sighed, already feeling something uncoil through his shoulders. “Indeed.”

 

Ezekiel gave him a lazy but sympathetic smile, something that was strangely easy on his features. He was, after all, an augment, just like Khan. Their training had been just the same, but where Khan was still stiff and severe, Ezekiel was somehow something else. His gold-brown hair was fashionably mussed, his skin ruddy with health, and his lips more likely to quirk into a grin than not. It didn’t make him any less of a formidable warrior or tactician, or Khan would have never approved of his appointment as the liaison at A-HAB.

 

“Joachim had it out with an admiral today,” Ezekiel reported.

 

Khan winced.

 

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. They kept it to shouting. Barely. And due to his astounding show of restraint, Joachim has been granted a little leeway on the matter. He won’t be reassigned just yet,” Ezekiel drawled.

 

“Sometimes I think Starfleet doubted all of us could be as troublesome as I initially was. They were disabused of this notion when I woke Joachim first,” Khan said.

 

“Yes, he does exemplify the more rebellious parts of your nature,” Ezekiel agreed with a grin.

 

“Perhaps he’s trying to make up for me,” Khan said.

 

Ezekiel’s smile faded, and he looked serious for the first time since the exchange began. “You’re doing it again, brother.”

 

Khan scowled. “I’ll thank you to leave the psycho-analyzing to Dr. Holden.”

 

“I would, but you don’t keep your appointments with the lady doctor now that you’ve shipped off,” Ezekiel chided. “She misses you.”

 

Khan snorted. Ezekiel eased back into a grin. He went missing from the frame for a moment, then his boots came into view as he kicked them up onto the desk. The room swerved wildly as he readjusted his terminal and finally came back into view, reclined back in his chair.

 

Before Ezekiel got a chance to needle him, Khan asked, “What about the others?”

 

“Jin is doing well. Steady as a rock, him. The blue shirts in Berkeley are delighted to have him. Matya and Aline have both gone to medical schools in Boston. Martin is currently in Iceland, babysitting a volcano or something. Sanjay is doing well on the Farragut. Desha is…” Ezekiel paused to check something on another PADD. “Ah. Helping with mechanics in space dock. She was officially bumped up from dry-dock today.”

 

Khan could think of nothing to say. Seven out of seventy-two. Eight, if one considered Ezekiel “placed” by what he was doing. The rest, sixty-four others, were still milling about in what was equivalent to a rodent habitat in Antarctica. Lost. Not ready.

 

The guilt reached out with ragged claws and tore at Khan’s throat. He didn’t have the answers. He shouldn’t have left them. He shouldn’t have set aside his rage.

 

Oh, it was all so much more civil this time.

 

He’d allowed the crippling relief of knowing Commander Spock had not taken everything from him take all his _strength_. It deconstructed him when he regained consciousness among all those intact cryotubes, when he wasn’t immediately torn away from them, when Dr. McCoy just left him among them as he drew blood. He hadn’t even resisted the draw. Or the push of sedatives, enough to kill an elephant, just barely enough to put him under.

 

And he’d woken up in A-HAB-13. Antarctica. And his family was still with him.

 

It hadn’t gone smoothly. Nothing with him ever did. But the Federation gave him Dr. Holden, and she was almost foolishly brave. She talked him back from a ledge he hadn’t known he’d been standing on. She convinced him that he _had_ brought his people to a new world, because this, this surely was not the twentieth century they had fled. That had been nothing but smoke, flame, ash, famine, disease, war, and a mass of quivering humanity that could accomplish nothing without an augment’s firm hand to drive it.

 

No, this was not that world, she assured him, but they still needed his help. Because, as he well knew, there were those in this world who would turn it all back—who would subvert all that the human race had accomplished since the dark ages Khan and his people had left behind. For Marcus couldn’t have done what he’d done alone, and if Starfleet were going to truly untangle the web of corruption that had empowered him, they would need what Khan knew. They would need to use him like a scalpel to surgically excise the infection from within.

 

We’ll bring them to justice, Dr. Holden had said. You and I. We’ll make sure of it. We’ll keep your family safe. We’ll wake them up, one by one. You and I. And we’ll fix it. We’ll fix everything. You and I.

 

Dr. Holden was almost painfully optimistic. But she had more than words to bargain with. She had facilities. Everything was already there at A-HAB-13. The medical facilities, the living quarters, the supplies.

 

He woke Joachim first. Then Jin. Then Ezekiel. The others followed, one by one, until they were all awake, looking at one another, lost pieces of history with nothing to ground to.

 

The isolation and quiet somehow kept them calm, and they did what they were designed to do. They strategized. Security was, after all, found in numbers. The augments were tacticians _and_ weapons—constantly at war with themselves, trying to find the stable ground between acceptance and aggression. Many of them had failed to find the balance at all, and the Eugenics Wars had ended them. This was their chance to do it differently. So they decided to try.

 

It still wasn’t that simple.

 

And Khan didn’t know if they were doing it because they wanted to, or because they were following him. What if he was wrong? Starfleet told him, told _them_ , that he did not speak for all of the augments. He could not lead them dictatorially as had always been their way, because this was no longer the nature of the human world. But Khan knew that would not stop them from choosing to follow his example.

 

His example of capitulation and complicity. Because there _was_ satisfaction in the systematic dismantling of what remained of Section 31. And Dr. Holden followed through on that. Anyone Khan could positively identify was removed from power if not charged with a crime.

 

But still. That did not solve the problem of the augments.

 

And now most of them were still on the ice cap. Still in rehabilitation. Isolation. Ezekiel was left to watch over a glorified nursery while Khan went through his probation with his belled collar and comely uniform.

 

He could feel the rage forming acid in his stomach.

 

“Stop,” Ezekiel commanded.

 

Khan flinched. He wished he could pretend to lose the connection. But his conscience wouldn’t allow it. He met Ezekiel’s gaze and said nothing.

 

“You don’t do anyone any good when you look like that,” Ezekiel said.

 

“Have I ever done anyone any good?” Khan very nearly sneered at himself.

 

Ezekiel narrowed his eyes. “You can stop that as well. Doubt doesn’t look good on you.”

 

Khan snorted but shook himself out.

 

“One of the few things that doesn’t,” Ezekiel teased, resuming his grin. “Rather like spangley slippers and turbans.”

 

Khan choked and then growled out, “Once. In Delhi.”

 

Ezekiel laughed. “You have the name for it, brother, but not the face.”

 

“They didn’t seem to care,” Khan retorted.

 

Ezekiel laughed louder, until Khan’s mouth twitched in a hint of shared mirth.

 

“Where did you learn it, Ez?” Khan asked eventually.

 

“What?”

 

“Humor.”

 

Ezekiel gave another lazy smile. “Parasites aren’t the only thing I picked up in the war.”

 

Khan scrunched up his face in disgust.

 

“Fortunately, the bugs washed off. The attitude didn’t, however.”

 

“And I left you in charge.”

 

“I’m the only one unhinged enough to handle this lot,” Ezekiel pointed out. “The rest of you are likely to blow a fuse at any moment. Never doubt my faith, O Captain, my Captain, but you aren’t exactly flexible.”

 

Khan gave a minute roll of his eyes. “I know. You were always just deranged enough…”

 

Ezekiel only smiled again. This. This is what kept Khan sane.

 

* * *

 

  **Chekov**

Chekov took the steps two at a time back down to the main floor in engineering. Scotty had sent him after a part and told him to be quick about it. Keenser was usually the go-fer, but when Chekov was around, his longer legs saw that he won the job. He didn’t mind. Part of the reason he liked the work in engineering so much was that it required moving around. Starship engines were big. They couldn’t be managed from a chair. Chekov was quite sure he’d never actually seen Scotty sit, not properly anyway. Folded up on the floor didn’t count. That only meant he was trying to get under something to either modify or repair it.

 

Chekov trotted through the wide storage bay overhead door that had been left open for use during this part of the shift. He rounded the corner and went to the right past the ends of several storage racks then hung a hard left to go down the tall row of supplies. In his haste, he barely managed to stop short of the large, dark figure that was hunched on the floor with parts sprawled out before it.

 

“So sorry!” Chekov yelped automatically even as he recognized Khan.

 

Khan glanced up at him, but that seemed to be all the acknowledgment he was willing to give. He looked back down at his work, hair falling into his eyes as he stooped over the project laid out before him on the floor. Curious, Chekov leaned down in an attempt to identify it.

 

“It’s nothing dangerous, Ensign Chekov,” Khan drawled.

 

Chekov blinked and glanced at his profile. “I did not assume it was.”

 

He focused on the small assembly again. It was roughly rectangular and perhaps half a meter across its longest dimension. The multiple electric motors and servos indicated that whatever it was would have a lot of moving parts when it was complete. At some further study, Chekov recognized mechanical jointing and robotics capable of locomotion. He crouched down to have a closer look, intrigued.

 

“What is it for?” he asked.

 

Khan paused and looked at him. Chekov looked up, to see the augment searching him, presumably for motive. Chekov turned back to the machine. He knew Khan would see whatever he wanted to see. After a moment, the augment blew out a sigh.

 

“Have you ever heard of an R-O-V?” he asked.

 

“You must not mean Russian airport,” Chekov said. “ _Rostov-on-Don_.”

 

“No,” Khan said, and there was even a hint of amusement in his voice. “A remotely operated vehicle.”

 

“Ah, yes!” Chekov said.

 

Khan looked sideways at him again. He seemed surprised at the genuine interest in Chekov’s voice. Chekov couldn’t help it. They had very good sensors, but the concept of a remotely operated vehicle, some physical device that one could actually send out and directly control, was something that had fallen by the wayside in favor of entirely remote sensing.

 

“You’re not as limited anymore,” Khan said. “There aren’t many places where you can’t go; even fewer places where I can’t go. But they do still exist.”

 

Khan gazed in the direction of the warp core, even though the wall blocked his view.

 

“At the very least,” he said, “there should be a mechanic with the ability to go where we can’t.”

 

The significance of this was not lost on Chekov. He’d been in Engineering when… _it_ had happened. Circumstance alone had prevented him from seeing Captain Kirk’s lifeless body, but he knew. Not everyone did. Many of the crew members were not privy to the details of how events exactly transpired that day, simply for reasons of security and confidentiality. Chekov wasn’t even supposed to know how Kirk had survived the radiation, but Kirk had a big mouth, and when he was comfortable among those he trusted, he could swallow whole galaxies with it.

 

Chekov thought that classifying the information that Khan’s blood had revived Kirk did more to protect Khan than anyone else. Limit the perceived value of a thing, limit those willing to come after it. Khan was not an object; he was a human being. Sadly, he would be objectified, again, and not allowed to learn what it was to be part of the human race if his true value was widely known. It was understood though, that the secrecy was primarily for Captain Kirk’s benefit. Kirk’s authority had been challenged a number of times, and if he could now be questioned based on his physiology, it put them all at risk. He was worth more than that though, to those who knew well enough—who weren’t trapped in the politics.

 

A person’s worth. Chekov would scoff aloud at the idea if he could.

 

If a person’s value _could_ be quantified, Khan’s numbers crept higher each day. Chekov watched him make fine adjustments to the robotics of the ROV—the machine he was building as a safety precaution. Because something he’d done once had killed someone unintentionally. Or at least in an unintentional way. Chekov frowned and veered away from that train of thought. Things tended to get sticky around the subject of whether Khan really meant to kill them all or not. Mostly because Khan had very little to say for himself on the matter. And yet, here he was.

 

“Oi, what’s taking you?” Scotty’s voice rang out from the doorway.

 

“Sorry!” Chekov called. “Over here!”

 

Khan’s shoulders tensed. Chekov wanted to give him some reassuring sign, but he didn’t look up. Scotty trotted round the corner in the shelving and came to a stop with Keenser right behind him.

 

“What’s this then?” he asked.

 

Khan heaved an irritated sigh and looked up reproachfully at Chekov. Chekov floundered a moment before he offered Khan an encouraging smile and gestured toward Scotty. He felt a bit like a teacher trying to get a student to show off a school project. Khan scowled at him and drew himself up into a crouch so that he could turn neatly to address Scotty.

 

“Currently, it’s a prototype,” Khan said.

 

“Of?” Scotty prompted, irritation worming into his voice.

 

Khan seemed to take just a moment to think, and then he said, “An independently mobile mechanical repair unit.”

 

The irritation disappeared from Scotty’s face and was immediately replaced with curiosity. He stepped forward for a closer look and asked, “How’s that?”

 

“Something that can go to places we cannot,” Chekov said with a wide grin.

 

Scotty lifted an eyebrow. “Well, that’s…”

 

Khan huffed and prodded one of the servo-motors with his finger. “It has strength and dexterity, it will even be quick, but climbing from place to place will still take time. The design requires rethought.”

 

“What if it could fly?” Scotty asked, hunkering down, uninvited, next to Khan.

 

Khan eyed him but then said, “Yes, but it would need a stable flight engine that won’t add significant weight or bulk and furthermore won’t interfere with or potentially damage anything within the mechanic’s proximity.”

 

“That nixes turbines,” Scotty mused, rubbing his chin. “You’d have to double the size of it just to support the weight of the power plant.”

 

Khan grunted in agreement and looked back at the device. Chekov was almost too delighted at the sight of Khan and Scotty getting along about something to focus on the problem. Inspiration struck him then though.

 

“Repulsors!” he blurted.

 

Scotty and Khan looked up at him.

 

“Magnetic!” Chekov blurted again. Part of him was aware that he should probably rein it in a little, but he was too excited to be embarrassed by his own outbursts. It wasn’t every day that they got to just make stuff. Like, with their hands. Theory, sure, but stuff like this? Chekov bounced on the balls of his feet.

 

Scotty looked thoughtful. “No one’s developed them with that kind of free moving control.”

 

“Yet!” Chekov said.

 

Khan looked up at Chekov for a moment then said, “I agree that it isn’t impossible.”

 

Scotty looked between Chekov and Khan. He slapped his hands against his knees and pushed himself up from the floor. “Well then. I suppose.” He waved a hand at Keenser. “Go on then. Get some repulsors for them. It’s a place to start anyway.” Keenser gave a rude gesture and trudged away. Scotty turned back to them. “I’ll check back later. I’ve got to get back to that panel. But when this comes together, I’ll be interested to see it.” He nodded to Khan and patted Chekov’s shoulder before striding back out of the storage bay.

 

Chekov scratched his head. He supposed that meant he was to stay and help. Which was what he wanted, but it occurred to him suddenly that he hadn’t exactly been invited. He looked down at Khan, who looked unflinchingly back up at him.

 

“Shall I… do you mind?” Chekov asked.

 

Khan lifted an eyebrow. “Do I have a choice?”

 

“Of course. This is your project,” Chekov said. “I will go clean the filtration system if you do not want me to interfere. Eh. Further interfere.”

 

Keenser jogged around the corner with an armload of small shipping boxes. He held them up to Chekov with a grunt.

 

“Oh,” Chekov said, taking the boxes. “I think Mr. Scott went back without the—”

 

He didn’t even finish before Keenser threw his arms dramatically in the air and stomped back off to somewhere else in the supply bay. He could walk surprisingly hard for someone so small. Chekov didn’t blame him. No one had remembered what they’d originally come to storage to get. Chekov smiled a little and turned, crouching down to set the boxes in a neat row next to Khan. He realized Khan had been watching him the whole time. It made him aware of imposing himself, already perhaps too close to the project, so he tried to scoot back. His balance tipped too far backward, and he ended up sitting rather abruptly on his behind. He hastily folded his legs in front of him as if he’d meant to do it. Khan looked away, finally.

 

He said, “I preferred to travel through Rostov-on-Don rather than Moscow. If I had need.”

 

Chekov blinked.

 

“That was… a long time ago, I suppose,” Khan said.

 

Chekov pushed himself back up onto his knees and scooted closer. When he was near, Khan lifted one of the boxes, opened it, and held it out to him. Chekov took it slowly. Khan met his gaze and nodded once.

 

“First, we need to find a lightweight power plant compatible with those,” he said.

 

Chekov smiled and nodded back. After a moment, he said, “Independently Mobile Mechanical Repair Unit. Eemm-ru. I like this better than R-O-Vwee.”

 

Khan’s mouth twitched. “IMMRU,” he repeated, sounding it out as Chekov had. “Very well then.”

 

Chekov grinned at the approval and set to unpacking the rest of the repulsors.

 

* * *

 

  **Khan**

Khan stretched his neck from one side to the other where he stood in the turbo-lift. It hissed open onto the bridge, and he stepped through, first noting the back of Kirk’s head before moving to take his position to the left of Commander Spock’s station for the remainder of Alpha shift. More often than not, as was currently the case, Commander Spock was at someone else’s station, micro-managing. Khan was only glad that Spock didn’t seem to find the need to hover over him. Thankfully, no one seemed eager to point out that this was because he and the Vulcan barely tolerated one another. Even Khan’s dislike for Kirk paled to mere indifference when compared to the lingering hostility he felt for Spock. The imbecilic, emotionally castrated commander may not have actually detonated Khan’s crew in a callous strategic move, but Khan would never forget the feeling of believing he had.

 

Likewise, it seemed that Spock was not keen to forgive the death of Captain Kirk, no matter how temporary it had been. Khan supposed this was because the pair were lovers, and attachments of that nature tended to breed more enduring emotional responses. Although, he did find it somewhat amusing that the relationship between the captain and the commander was something no one talked about. Khan was quite sure he wasn’t supposed to know about it at all. He wasn’t sure, however, how anyone could be expected to miss the signs.

 

Even now, Spock had moved to stand beside the captain’s chair. He looked down with his usual cool blankness, but Kirk tilted his head and looked up with ridiculously bright, over-eager eyes. His lips parted, not to speak, but to compensate for the increased respiration he seemed to suddenly be dealing with, and his tongue lightly brushed his bottom lip. Spock lifted his head, looking away at the view port, but his weight shifted toward Kirk, and he raised his left hand from where it had been tucked neatly behind his back to rest it casually on the back of the captain’s chair. Kirk turned his gaze back to the planet they currently orbited and manipulated the view screen to zoom in on the smoldering landmass that huddled in the midst of a seething ocean.

 

Spock turned to look at Kirk again and opened his mouth.

 

Kirk said, “Don’t even ask.”

 

Spock shut his mouth. Khan smirked. They could not be any more obvious.

 

The turbo-lift doors hissed open to release Ensign Chekov. They had parted ways in the storage bay after retrofitting the repulsors to the IMMRU. There were too few repulsors to have exactly the degree of precise control that they’d want for an actual working model, but they would do for this prototype. Finding the ideal power source was proving to be more of a challenge than anticipated though. Even with the auxiliaries he’d built in, the power systems already on-board were not enough to support the draw from the repulsors without compromising the other systems. And adding a secondary system of the same design would add a prohibitive amount of mass. Besides that, there absolutely should be two completely different power supplies available to the unit, in case of malfunctions or environmental limitations.

 

To Khan’s surprise, Ensign Chekov turned immediately in his direction instead of going to his seat at navigation. He approached Khan without hesitation and stopped at his side.

 

“I have an idea,” he said.

 

“Yes?” Khan prompted, involuntarily curious at the navigator’s behavior. Crew members did not approach him unless it was absolutely necessary.

 

“A miniature tachyon reactor.”

 

Khan lifted an eyebrow.

 

“If we can harness the energy from differential if we affect the velocity of a tachyon, even over a short distance, we’ll have all the energy we need,” the ensign said.

 

“Yes, I know what a tachyon reactor is,” Khan said patiently. “I’m not sure how you intend to miniaturize it.”

 

Chekov smiled, almost shyly. “I am not sure either, but that is no reason not to try.”

 

Khan wanted to tell the navigator he was insane, but his brain was already working on the technicalities a miniature tachyon reactor would require. Khan laughed, because he couldn’t stop the idea from taking hold.

 

“You want to build the smallest particle accelerator in history from spare parts on lunch breaks then?” Khan asked.

 

Chekov grinned and nodded.

 

“Very well,” Khan said, still laughing.

 

Chekov nodded again, grin never fading, and marched off to his station. Khan watched him go with an amused shake of his head. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone other than Ezekiel had made him laugh. That had surely not been the fledgling engineer’s intention, but he didn’t seem to mind it. He even looked back before he sat down, still smiling back at Khan, as if he couldn’t contain the anticipation. Ensign Chekov was becoming quite the anomaly. Khan released one last amused huff through his nose then turned back to the reports in front of him.

 

It was clear that Captain Kirk wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. He’d begun sending him efficiency reports to review. It started with energy consumption, and Khan had returned the report with recommendations for efficiency upgrades in several areas. Kirk had then started sending other consumable supply reports. Khan optimized them, out of boredom and sent them back, and now he was metaphorically elbow deep in everything from duty rosters to water treatment cycling.

 

Honestly, if they didn’t have someone else on board who knew how to do this, they should have never left port. But Khan had determined to keep his mouth shut. He would do what was asked of him. He would make this six month tour go as quickly as possible. He was nearly a month done already. He’d managed to stay isolated and quiet so far.

 

Lt. Uhura left her station sometime late in the shift and moved to stand at the Captain’s side, murmuring to him about something. Khan was finished with his reports, and he considered not interrupting the pair at the chair, but the communications officer looked irritated with the captain, and this intrigued Khan. He stood and tried to ignore the not subtle hush that descended over the bridge. A month nearly, and they still quieted if they thought his movements were too sudden.

 

Khan moved to stand over Kirk, and he was not surprised that Commander Spock materialized from somewhere almost as if he’d been beamed in. The Vulcan was utterly transparent. Kirk turned his attention away from Lt. Uhura and looked expectantly at Khan. Khan simply held out his PADD with one hand.

 

Kirk took it but said, “It couldn’t wait?”

 

Khan resisted the urge to smirk. Kirk wasn’t usually this easy to annoy. He was clearly at odds with Uhura over something at the moment, and it was putting him off his game.

 

Khan kept his expression placid. “I apologize. Whenever you’re ready for our daily debriefing, I shall be waiting.”

 

Kirk waved a dismissive hand at him. Spock narrowed his eyes. Khan nodded politely, to Uhura, then returned to his station. Kirk and Uhura murmured at each other for another few minutes before Uhura returned to her station. Kirk was visibly irritated as well now, and it only took him a moment to spring up from his chair and turn to the turbolift.

 

“Let’s take a walk, Mr. Singh,” he announced.

 

Khan fought not to laugh when Spock appeared perturbed for a moment then simply fell in next to his captain as though he’d been called along. Khan moved to join them.

 

Just before they entered the turbolift, Kirk said, “Let’s go, Lieutenant. We’ll deal with your _thing_ on the way.”

 

Uhura stood stiffly from her station and joined them. It made for a full turbolift. Khan stood in the middle with Uhura on one side and Kirk and Spock on the other. He wanted both to laugh and possibly to gut punch all of them. Kirk pretended nothing was amiss.

 

“Carry on,” he said and gestured at Khan.

 

Khan bit back a sigh and began his verbal report as he usually did. “I engaged in a five hour engineering rotation this morning in which I worked with Ensign Chekov on a repair unit. The project is incomplete, but I will continue the work on my next rotation. I spent the afternoon optimizing usage policies. I can’t imagine you have any left to send me, so I’m aquiver in anticipation of what you’ll have for me tomorrow afternoon.”

 

The turbolift doors opened, but Kirk didn’t even notice. He was too busy glaring at Khan. Khan felt grim satisfaction that the barb had stuck. Kirk, however, was maintaining more control than expected. He wasn’t returning the volley. Khan walked out first, and Kirk huffed before drawing even with him as they continued down the corridor.

 

Khan went on. “I’m scheduled to liaise with Admiral Cahill this evening regarding several affidavits and future testimony. There is also some concern about hidden elements that we wish to discuss. I assume the communication request has been placed already, yes?”

 

“Yes, that conference is scheduled,” Uhura said.

 

Kirk nodded and looked distracted for a moment. “Hidden elements?” he asked.

 

Khan frowned. “While I can say with confidence that we’ve identified everyone directly involved with Marcus’ operation, that is, anyone within Starfleet who participated in or was complicit with the actions of Section 31, it remains not only possible but likely that there are unseen outside contributors. These will be more difficult to identify. I may still be able to help with that.”

 

“Help?” Kirk sounded skeptical.

 

“Yes, help. Assist. Contribute.” Khan narrowed his eyes.

 

“It must really _suck_ not to be able to crush all their heads,” Kirk said acidly.

 

Khan was surprised at the venom in that, but he hid it. Calmly, he said, “It does rankle somewhat.”

 

Kirk made a disgusted noise. He veered to the right, into the long-range subspace noise lab, and looked about, leaving the rest of them at the door. “Alright,” he announced loudly in the dim, quiet room.

 

Several heads shot up at the scattered work stations. In the doorway, Uhura crossed her arms.

 

“From now on,” Kirk said, “Anyone caught napping in this lab will be formally reprimanded. No matter how soothing subspace noise can be.” Kirk turned back to Uhura and went on. “Because it’s not very noisy. It’s really actually quiet. And peaceful.”

 

“And hard to hear if someone in the room is snoring!” Uhura roared.

 

Kirk heaved a sigh and turned to address the room again. “Reprimands,” he said. He turned back out into the hall, caught sight of Khan, and scowled.

 

“You,” he said.

 

He didn’t follow it up with anything. He just led their convoy down the hall again. Khan was almost amused. Kirk really was out of sorts today. It had always been in his nature to let things distract him. He had the attention span of a golden retriever to begin with. Halfway through a conversation, one almost expected him to shout “TRIBBLE!” and point.

 

“So you want to be more involved,” Kirk said, apropos of nothing.

 

Khan rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug. “What I want is irrelevant.”

 

“Whaddaya know? We agree on something,” Kirk said. He sighed and slowed to a stop. They were at an intersection, but the corridors were clear. “Look,” Kirk said. “I didn’t need you on this crew. You want to talk about efficiency? I’m running one man heavy for a social experiment. The person I needed isn’t here because of you.”

 

Khan cocked his head to the side. It took him a moment to realize what Kirk meant. Then he breathed the name out, almost regretfully. “Carol Marcus.”

 

“No one was going to stand in the way of her transfer request the moment you walked onto this ship,” Kirk said. He looked like he wanted to be angry but he’d already spent it all. Now he was just resigned to the loss. “So I got a new weapons specialist and you. Two for one. Fantastic.”

 

Of all the regrets Khan had, Carol Marcus was the worst of them. Because there wasn’t anything he could have done differently. He found he regret most the things he could help the least. The only thing he could have undone for her was the shattering of her leg, and he would be an idiot if he thought that’s what haunted her. No, it was what immediately followed that. He would never be able to fully enjoy that moment. What should have been the moment of his victory was overlaid with something else, as if it was a picture that had been double exposed. There was the monstrous satisfaction of feeling Admiral Marcus’ skull grinding together, imploding in his bare hands, but it was tainted by the sound of Carol Marcus’ scream. The pain wasn’t hers to bear. She was only collateral damage. He’d meant to hurt Marcus, destroy Marcus, but not her. He could not do one without the other. It couldn’t be helped. He still regretted it.

 

Khan stepped close to Kirk, his voice low. “You will never see me attempt to apologize to Carol Marcus. This is not because I am not sorry. I never meant to cause her pain. I simply know that I _can’t_ apologize to her. Given all of eternity, I couldn’t even begin.”

 

Kirk was still in front of him, looking searchingly into his eyes, and somehow, their proximity seemed to lend the captain some tranquility he hadn’t had a moment before. He let out a soft sigh and looked down between them for a moment.

 

“You can’t apologize because you’d do it again, wouldn’t you?” Kirk asked.

 

Khan tilted his head and decided to answer honestly. “Given the choice, I would change many things, but for what Marcus did, I would kill him a thousand times over, in front of Carol Marcus or not. I have never tried to deny this.”

 

Kirk lifted his eyes. He searched Khan’s face, for what Khan couldn’t be sure. But to his surprise, he could see the acceptance in Kirk’s eyes. Not just acceptance but appreciation. For the truth or for what he was, it was hard to tell. Kirk looked down between them again. Khan realized that they were standing suspiciously close together. Spock had drawn near to Kirk’s elbow and was standing even stiffer than usual. Khan suddenly wanted to laugh. He drew a step back and swept a hand through his hair. He feigned disinterest once again.

 

“As for the rest of it, that’s your own fault. You needn’t have ordered another weapon’s specialist. Not when you have me,” Khan said.

 

Kirk’s eyes widened and he released an incredulous huff before turning to stomp back to the bridge. Khan smirked as he watched him go, aware of the stock still Vulcan who had been left behind.

 

“Don’t be too concerned,” Khan drawled, tilting his head minutely in Spock’s direction.

 

“Concerned?” Spock asked.

 

Anyone else might have missed the note of tension in his voice, but Khan could hear it easily. He turned to face Spock head on, drawing a casual step closer, squaring his shoulders, and straightening his spine. He and Spock were a near match in height, though Spock may have had a slight advantage. The posturing was purely for effect—to show Spock that he could, in fact, be postured to. The Vulcan merely narrowed his eyes.

 

“It’s only your mate’s eyes that wander,” Khan said calmly.

 

Spock blinked. To make his point, Khan gave Spock a long look down and back up. Spock narrowed his eyes again.

 

“Though, if I’m wrong, and anything else of his attempts to wander, I’ll be sure to let you know. After all, I have agreed to terms of full disclosure for the duration of this tour,” Khan said.

 

He allowed a slight smile then. He had to really, because he could see the rage rise up in the Vulcan’s eyes. Spock’s fists clenched, but he didn’t lose control. No, that would have been too easy. He didn’t dignify Khan’s taunts with any kind of answer either. Instead, he stepped around him to follow his captain, his mate, off toward the bridge.

 

Khan turned to watch him go, deeply satisfied while simultaneously aware that he’d just thrown his first month’s effort at _keeping his mouth shut_ out the airlock. It was only when Uhura stepped up to be even with him that he fully remembered she was still there.

 

“That was rather well played,” she said.

 

Khan looked at her, surprised.

 

She glanced at him and shrugged. “Well, Kirk never could keep his eyes to himself.”

 

Khan smiled after a moment. “I take it you were a victim of his unwanted advances, once upon a time.”

 

“Yes, imagine my conflicted relief when all it took was a green-blooded Vulcan man to set him straight,” Uhura said, smirking at the irony. “Spock was only able to put him in his place at the beginning though. Our willful captain remains willful to the last.”

 

Khan grunted. Willful was putting Kirk’s recklessness in mild terms.

 

“He is, however, loyal. And if I find out that you’ve deliberately done anything to jeopardize my Captain and Commander’s happiness, I will end you. However difficult it may be, I’m sure there are ways, and I will find one and employ it. Do you understand?” Uhura asked.

 

Khan lifted an eyebrow at her. She turned her head to look calmly back at him. After a moment, he smiled.

 

“I understand,” he said.

 

“Good,” Uhura replied with a nod.

 

“That is the first time someone has spoken honestly to me in weeks,” Khan said. “Ambitiously but honestly. All the tip-toeing around is incredibly grating on the nerves.”

 

“Is that why you felt the need to pick on Spock?”

 

“Oh, I have many reasons for that.”

 

“As do we all.”

 

Khan studied Uhura for a moment. The tilt of her chin was proud and strong, she held herself tall, and there was only healthy caution in the regard she gave to him. She was physically weak, but stronger than most human females, and her alertness and reflexes alone could make up for a lot of the physical prowess she lacked. He’d seen that for himself on Kronos. She’d managed herself in the midst of a squad of Klingons. He found that he admired her fearlessness despite how foolish it made her seem.

 

Khan turned to Uhura fully. “Join me for dinner,” he suggested.

 

She looked up at him suspiciously.

 

“We can hurl insults at one another over synthesized protein. It will be cathartic,” Khan said.

 

Uhura laughed. Khan allowed a smile to curve one corner of his mouth. Uhura gave a nod of agreement and turned toward the galley.

 

“I get a few free shots first though,” she said.

 

“Oh, very well,” Khan conceded.

 

“Machiavelli used to be proud of you,” Uhura began.

 

“We should establish how many ‘a few’ actually is,” Khan mused.

 

“He’s probably rolling around in his grave now,” Uhura continued.

 

Khan scoffed. “Machiavelli was a twat.”

 

“I’m not done,” Uhura protested mildly.

 

“I insulted Machiavelli, not you,” Khan said, allowing Uhura into the turbolift first.

 

Uhura stepped inside and keyed the controls with a drawled, “I can see now that this is going to be an absolute delight.”

 

Khan smirked. Uhura only half pretended to not be amused.

 

It wasn’t until later that evening, safely in quarters, alone, isolated once again, that Khan realized that some carefully maintained barrier had been breached. This was not nearly the longest Khan had gone without being near his family. Not nearly. But he’d made peace with the fact that he was essentially a pack animal. An alpha among that pack, but a member of a pack all the same. Isolation wasn’t his natural state. He got around it, because he had to, and he had his pack to fall back on. Eventually. Until then, he kept to himself.

 

He’d allowed something through though. He hadn’t meant to. Like a boy at play, a boy who didn’t know any better, Pavel Chekov had laid a plank across the chasm that Khan placed between himself and others. All it took was a moment of distraction. Khan had been caught off guard, watching the boy flail and laugh as he made the crossing, and he hadn’t noticed how quickly other planks were laid. All it took was that single moment. Suddenly everyone was much closer, like they were following Ensign Chekov’s lead.

 

These, Khan knew, were the kind of complications this would make this tour unbearable.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome and appreciated. Honestly, I'm just doing this cuz it's fun though. (And I fully admit, it's more than a little cracky.)
> 
> I'll continue the story ASAP. (And there will be sex. Because how can you not, with Khan?)


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